


Faint, Far Away

by CherryValiant



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Revenge, Romance, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryValiant/pseuds/CherryValiant
Summary: A spattering of stories detailing the growing relationship between John Hancock and The Woman Out of Time.





	1. Chapter 1

When the mutant hound knocked him on his back, he thought, "Well, this is how I die." It gnawed at the shotgun in its mouth, the only thing keeping the beast from tearing off his face. Its stubby back legs tore apart his thighs, his stomach, preventing any chance at kicking it off of him. Two taloned paws ripped apart the skin on his chest.

He tried to call out for help, still hearing the sound of her gunshots over the frantic growling from the dog that was killing him. It shook the gun in its mouth in an attempt to take it from him. He held as best as he could. He watched the metal bend in its jaws and shut his eyes as tightly as he could, preparing for the gun to break.

But it didn't. Instead, at the last second, he heard combat boots against cement and opened his eyes. It might have been the Jet or the adrenaline, but he watched her sail over him in slow motion, arms wrapping around the dog's middle in a flying tackle. It yelped in pain as she threw it off of him, somehow landing on her knees as it struggled to turn over. A single, well-placed bullet ended the beast.

He was in awe. He tried to sit up, but his chest was on fire and his legs didn't want to support his weight. There was a lot of blood, and none of it was the dog's. He looked up at her when she knelt beside him, already tearing off the sleeves of her undershirt to tie around his bleeding legs.

"That was the coolest shit I've ever seen," he muttered under his breath, suddenly fascinated with the freckles on her nose. She looked up at him, smiled, then looked past him. Somewhere, more super mutants were howling.

"I've gotta pick you up so we can get out of here," she panted, tying both sleeves around his respective legs. He tried to stand on his own, but collapsed into her chest. He cursed, knowing that he might be the reason they both die today. But she scooped him up into her arms like a bride, wobbling slightly under his weight, and took off.

The moon was their light as she finally found a place to rest. In the ruins of an old shipping yard, a huge blue container was their temporary home. It was just big enough for them and a little campfire. She'd loaded him up with stimpaks and bandaged his wounds as best she could, and even though he'd insisted he was fine, she wanted to stop for the night.

He propped himself against the inside of the cargo container when she finally flopped beside him, handing him a can of beans. He tried not to have her notice him scratching at the strips of old shirt wrapped around his chest.

"Thanks for the beans," he winked at her, and watched her smile grow. Her nose crinkled around her grin in the fire light.

"Thanks for, y'know, not dying and stuff," she smiled, dumping the can into her mouth like a drink. He did the same, making sure not to wince as his chest burned. They ate in silence for a time.

"Honestly, though. Thank you," he said, drawing her attention from the embers to him. Her eyes shone in the glow, like the stars in the ocean. "Not a lot of people would've tackled a hound to save one ghoul."

"You're not just a ghoul," she's quick to respond. "You're Hancock. You're my…" He watched her stumble over the "friend", her eyes darting away and her smile growing with her rising blush. Inside his torn up chest, his ribcage tightened. "So, uh, you wanna see something cool?"

He smiled and nodded, finding her inability to hide emotion endearing. She dug through one of the pockets on her coat and pulled out a holotape, popping it into the Pip-Boy on her wrist. A little game flickered on the screen. "RED MENACE" illuminated her face.

They spent the rest of the night trying to beat each other's high scores, neither seeming to notice when Hancock's arm found a place around her waist. In the middle of the night, he awoke to find the Pip-Boy still in his lap, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. He nestled into her hair, smelling the faint, far away scent of lavender soap before falling back asleep.


	2. Rain

Hancock awoke to the sound of thunder across the horizon. Groaning, his back stiff, he sat up. The ratty blanket fell to his hips as he rubbed his eyes, doing his best to remove the sleep from them. He stared out the shattered window, watching the sun slowly swallowed by storm clouds. Rain hissed in the distance, and before he mustered the will to throw his legs over the bed, a light drizzle had already begun above the tattered farmhouse.

On the opposite side of the room, she turned in her sleep, nestled under a Brahmin hide blanket that barely covered her feet. Soft snores gilded the rainfall, interrupted only by the flip of Hancock's lighter as he inhaled a cigarette. The smoke exited his nose in huge clouds as he stood, clad in nothing but his trousers. Clothes tended to irritate his skin, he told women in bars to pique their interests. Grabbing a pistol from a broken nightstand, he descended the stairs with his smoke between his thin lips.

Exiting the old farmhouse, the ghoul leaned on the only part of the porch railing that was still standing, flicking his ashes into the rain. In his line of work, you didn't get many soft moments. Moments where you could look out into a thunderstorm and actually appreciate what little beauty was left in the wastes. He took another long drag, filling his lungs and blowing the smoke into little O's with his tongue.

The woman upstairs was something else. Wickedly smart, a fast talker. He once saw her put a bullet into a raider's head from four hundred yards.

Another long drag.

And those hips. She was plump, a characteristic uncommon in the wastes. And damn, did she fill out that BOS uniform. He smirked, thinking of the many times he caught himself watching her slam into battle, thrust that bayonetted rifle into super-mutant stomachs, her face flecked with blood and sweat.

He heard the mattress on the second floor creak, and he hastily sucked in the rest of his cigarette in a vain attempt to silence the rush of blood that flooded past his belt. Tossing the butt to the thunderstorm, he decided to loot the kitchen for anything of value to eat. Before he managed to sneak into the kitchen, however, she came down the stairs, wrapped in her blanket.

He felt his lungs falter in his chest. Her hair was in a ratty knot and fell across her eyes as she looked at him, her full lips pulling back in a smile.

"Morning," she yawns, covering her mouth with the blanket. Hancock coughs out a "good morning" and hustles into the kitchen, trying to regain himself. Christ, you never saw a woman before, he snaps at himself, flinging open the fridge door.

Of course, there was nothing inside. Not even an empty Cola bottle. Hancock sighed, turning to his partner leaning in the doorway.

"No breakfast? I'm gonna file a complaint with the manager. The service in this place is terrible," she complained, her eyes closed but her mouth still smirking.

"Well, excuse me, ma'am. We here at Irradiated John's offer the best 200 year-old servings of 'Go-Fuck-Yourself's' this side of the Glowing Sea, and we shan't need your patronage to thrive," he sniffed, peering down his non-existent nose at her. She laughed, her eyes crinkling. He found himself grinning at the sight, her frame outlined by the rain above.

They gathered their things from the chests upstairs before they headed out, her stomach growling loudly as she fastened her armor over her thighs. Hancock promised her all the noodles she could manage when they got to Diamond City, and he couldn't remember seeing her look more enthused.

Their weapons in hand, they stood on the porch, both scowling at the storm around them. Without a word, Hancock plopped his hat atop her head, and she simply touched his arm in thanks. They left the ruined home, knowing that silence was all the gratitude that needed to be shown.


End file.
